Time

[Maksym Vasylchenko]

Maksym Vasylchenko buried his father on the surface. 

It was a dangerous trek, by far the riskiest he'd ever made, but he'd made it regardless, and Piotr Vasylchenko's final resting place viewed the distant sunrise across wrecked and wrought beams of the old world he'd left behind. The Metro had saved his life, and its dank, dreary tunnels had taken it back from him. 

The Hands of Time stood still. The shop, closed. Timur, fatherless Timur, was allowed to stay, as Maksym could not find it within his heart to kick the poor boy out. He knew enough of the watchmaker's craft to build watches all on his own by now, but Maksym would not ask that of him, and Timur would not continue without Maksym's approval. 

For the first day or so after his father passed, Maksym wept. It was not manly, in the traditional sense, to weep, but Maksym did not care. He wept that his father did not live to see the surface one last time, that only in death would he return to the land, never to return to Kyiv, to their home. When the weeping was done, though, he instead began to ponder. His father never punished him for his wanderings, but openly disapproved of them. He wondered, now, what late Piotr would have wanted him to do. Would he have wanted Maksym to take the shop for himself, or to abandon it for his wanderlust. Maksym knew not, and it scared him that he knew not, so he pondered further, and wondered if the Hands of Time would ever move again. 

About two weeks had passed since his father had when the shop reopened, but no longer was it the Vasylchenkos who ran it. It was Timur. Maksym did not help the boy build watches, instead asking Misha to do so, and the boy did it without complaint. Instead, Maksym cooked, kept the home, and continued to ponder. 

What was his purpose in life? To make watches, or something more? He didn't know, and wished he had an answer.